Detective's Rhapsody
by lemon-and-chai2B
Summary: AU Mystery Action Romance Drama Atobe's been murdered! As Ryouma tracks down the prime suspect, he finds himself in a situation where he might be next! [FujiRyo]
1. Act 1 Scene I

Detective's Rhapsody

[DISCONTINUED]

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**Disclaimer: **"Bohemian Rhapsody" belongs to Freddie Mercury. Or some company that bought the rights from him. It's a good song, go download it. Oh, and Konomi-sensei's Prince of Tennis too.

**Genre: **An AU Mystery/Drama. Also some action, angst, and FujiRyo-type romance. My first attempt at this sort of story.

**Pairings:** The only one I'm giving away for now if FujiRyo. ... ;;; Okay okay, you know I'll put in some Golden Pair and InuKai later.

**Rants:** I have a LOT planned for this fic! A lot. So follow the clues and see what you can figure out! And enjoy the drama along the way. Hopefully nothing will be too confusing, everything shall be explained ... someday. Fuufuufuu.

**Warning:** PG-13 rating. There's no actual yaoi, but well... let's just say shounen ai is my thing. So if you hate it, I guess this isn't the fic for you. Though, if you ask me, even if you hate it, you'll still enjoy the story. There will be minor violence, too, and mature themes.

**Summary:** Atobe dies. OO Yup, I'm telling you the end right at the start. Okay okay, so it should be pretty obvious he was murdered, and the boy wonder of ISLID (International S-Level Investigations Department) is on the case! ) But he'll need lots of help along the way.

Ghostly fog wafted densely throughout the outer garden, coolly tickling the young boy's barely exposed neck behind his fine, light brown hair. He could hardly see the cement path three feet before him, yet the mansion's outline would still be visible, he knew, if only he tempted to turn around and look. But he would not look back, nor ever return. Tightening his grip on the black cloth strap of his messenger bag, his teeth bit lightly into his lower lip as a testimony of his determination, and his feet continued to step steadily forward, though the fog clouded all certainty of the future.

That was all right, too, he decided. He had a place to go, and he was strong now. All he had was the spare change of clothes in his messenger bag, a water bottle and a fifty dollar bill. But for the thirteen year old youth, simply stepping out into the world of freedom brought myriad excitement coursing through his blood, and he felt a small close mouthed smile slip into his lips. He liked the feeling behind the expression, and tried to freeze it on his face, closing his eyes in peaceful concentration. Never once did he stop walking, away from the mansion, away from the fog covered bushes, through the ebony steeled gate and into miora's breath.

Watching silently from behind one of the mansion's many windows, a man's fingers brushed lightly against the mole beneath his cheek, before placing the tips gently against the glass. His hand seemed to try to reach through the pane's thickness, hesitant to let the small boy go.

Seven years later, owner of said hand lay dead on his bedroom carpet, a thick handled knife protruding from the left side of his chest.

Act 1: Just Killed a Man

Scene I: Welcome to ISLID

Tezuka Kunimitsu had only served in his position as vice chair of ISLID (International S-Level Investigations Department) for two weeks and already he found himself wallowing in sludge. Wanting to sigh, but knowing the tendency didn't fit with his ever stoic countenance, which of course he had to maintain even though no one else was in the room to see it, he turned over the heavy file case dallying in his hands, sorting out the papers as if they might disappear if he handled them enough.

It wasn't as if he was afraid of the workload, he knew that as the current top investigator at the world's highest level police station he could handle it, but this case in particular would be vexingly messy. When he was promoted, he expected onerous duties as head to carve away at his personal time and any chance he had left for sanity, but he prepared to give his all. Depicting Atlas suited his stoic disposition, and he actually felt comfortable carrying the encumbrance, as if by doing so he ascertained his worth and role in society.

But no one is perfect, not even he. He knew the moment his glasses reflected the case's title this wasn't something he wanted to deal with.

Well, that was best part about being in charge. He could just dump all that sludge on someone else.

Tapping the intercom with his index finger, he voiced, "Call Echizen Ryouma to my office."

Without even bothering to register the secretary's acknowledgement, he went back to fingering the files, eyeing again the victim's profile that sat wearily on top. Atobe Keigo. He grimaced. This case would be messy indeed.

_It's about time!_ Ryouma thought exasperatingly, pouting cheekily that the head hadn't called him in sooner. He had been there three days already, and he hadn't been assigned a case!

As the youngest member to ever join ISLID, seventeen year old Echizen Ryouma had by far exceeded his upper classmen at the academy, and since he didn't want anyone to think he was getting special attention thanks to his connections, he'd worked especially hard to make sure he stood out in everything. Athleticism and prodigal talent came naturally to him, and though he'd sulkingly admit most of it birthed from his genetics, it was still his personal abilities, not his father's influence, that had won him the singular spot that had opened in one of the most prestigious anti-criminal bureaus of all time.

Of course, he didn't want to think about the circumstances that had allowed the opening to become available. Basically it stemmed from the fact one of the lead detectives, Tezuka, had been promoted to Vice Chair, leaving an opening in investigations, but he knew that was just a cover - Tezuka was really being appointed the department's head, since the current Chair was... missing. For some reason, ISLID didn't want to acknowledge that its leader was most certainly dead (perhaps out of embarrassment?) so it had created the Vice Chair position that had never actually existed before - in reality, it was a polite way to put someone in charge without actually replacing anybody.

Ryouma barred his teeth into his lower lip, trying to focus on the stinging pain instead of the flashing memories that threatened watery excerpts on his lower eyelids. The Chair was...had been...the strongest person in the world, or so he himself had always proclaimed. But then Father - the Chair had been assassinated, just like that. Murdered in a place so desolate ISLID refused to risk a team to recover the body.

Stupid Nanjiro! Only that unshaven monkey would be foolish enough to infiltrate criminal territory without backup or a steady plan. He had just gone off, and despite jaunty promises to Ryouma and his mother that he'd of course return safely, ended up dead.

Ryouma wouldn't be like him. Two years forward, he was entering ISLID, taking the place of the burlesque monk even if only by shifting in at the bottom. After solving enough cases and moving through the ranks, he'd request a personal investigation, and then take his revenge. Sure, he didn't know who to take revenge on, but that was why he'd chosen to become an investigator; this way, he could find out for himself.

Everything. The truth. If there was such a thing.

Tezuka's office was something out of a detective film. That is, it only had the necessary props - nothing superfluously _human_ like picture frames or personal possessions, just a desk lamp, coffee maker, mug overloaded with office utensils, and piles and piles of documents. Well, at least there was strong overhead lighting.

Only once had Ryouma chanced to see the venerated inspector, and that was when he had casually brushed by a few days ago. So this was the young detective's first chance to size up his superior. He'd been sure, like all his previous professors and bosses, that it wouldn't take him to long to figure out what made the older man tick, and knock him down with a cavalier smirk.

It didn't take a prodigy to figure out how wrong that assumption had been.

Staring impertinently at the Spartan simulacrum seated at the desk before him, Ryouma found himself face to face with the most serious visage a human could possibly own. Russet hair swept roughly into bundles, framing the narrow jaw line of the spectacled vice chair staring back, obviously returning the rigorous scrutinizing. The cocky novice swiveled his vision over the opposing man's tightly stretched frown, the straight fall of his nose and strict inward tilt of the eyebrows, the thin gold rim of his glasses that pushed otherwise disorderly bangs back behind tweaked out ears, and Ryouma couldn't help but note the tiny, scarred puncture at the center of the right ear lobe. His acute detective eyes also registered the neat fitted collar and dark, patternless tie that simply spoke, 'I am a professional. Enough said.'

He decided Tezuka was someone he would actually listen to.

"Echizen Ryouma. Welcome to ISLID."

"Ha..."

The deep, inlaid voice matched his captain's stoic exterior all too well.

"This is your first case."

"Ah.. okay." A thick packet was roughly shoved into his hardly outstretched hands.

"Dismissed."

"Ah... hai..."

And suddenly he found himself already out the office door.

"Um... right," he said to no one in particular.

First impression of Tezuka Kunimitsu: ... ... ... oh. ... my. god.

And people said Ryouma lacked conversational skills.

Note: Kind of like a prologue, nee? Originally I was planning to release Act I all at the same time -; but it's getting too long and I am hoping for some feedback. Please tell me what you think! ;; Believe it or not, Fuji _does_ appear at the end of Act I. Otanoshimi nee!


	2. Act 1 Scene II

A/N: argh This scene was really hard to write. Really really hard. And I'm so bad at writting Hyotei, gomen!

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Act I: Just Killed A Man _(continued...)_

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Scene II: Collecting the Suspects

He skimmed over the paperwork while the cab headed north. It took a few hours to reach the crime scene, a remotely placed capital class mansion suitable only for the inherited elite. Reviewing the victim's file, it only took a couple minutes for him to catalogue what he was dealing with -

Atobe Keigo, late twenties, self-proclaimed aristocrat extraordinaire, one of the top executives in the business world. A favorite for the cover of the Wall Street Journal (something about attracting more female subscribers). Business rivals and jealous husbands up the wazoo.

- which was practically nothing. He knew from academic experience and numerous simulations that this kind of data only took you one place, and that would be nowhere.

Sniffing, he eyed the looming ebony gates which laced out fancifully in somewhat Victorian design. The metal twists and curls resembled a spider's artifice web, set out to catch unknowing visitors and detectives in horrifically tangled strands of fate.

Somehow, he couldn't help but feel he was being left out of something. ISLID was the world's premier investigations department, and its intelligence division proclaimed itself one of the best, outdoing even the CIA (not that they impressed anyone nowadays, since Iraq), so surely more information about the flashy diva should have been available. But besides finding hints that Atobe had a few dibs in so-called 'shady' transactions, Ryouma didn't know what to expect.

"Oi, Echizen!" Ryouma was jolted out of his reverie by a call from his left. He turned to see a sturdily built, spiky haired guy - what's his name again? - jogging towards him and waving.

"Um... you are..." Paying off the driver, he sent the cab off on its way.

"I told you, call me Momo-chan!" The rectangular faced youth beamed, hands on hips in an all too cheerful manner.

"Right, Momo-sempai, what is..." he waved to the general chaos around him, "all this?!"

"Uh..."

Some of the people running around wore navy blue police uniforms like Momoshiro indicating they belonged at the scene of a major investigation, but many of them seemed to be the mansion's staff, young woman adorned in frilly stereotypical maid's outfits, stiff looking men wearing gaudy black suits, and some in casual business attire that were just... loitering. No yellow tape or red warning cones were anywhere in site. Typically, the mansion should have been cleared out to make way for the investigators, and well, it was ISLID's field agent's job to direct the local police to do so.

"I take it _you're_ the field agent," Ryouma wryly stated, figuring that would explain it.

An overly friendly hand pounded on his back, the older youth grinning down at him, as if to cover his growing sweatdrop. "Ah well, the workers here refuse to leave. This place is actually pretty big, and they say they don't really have any other place to go. Well uh, we're clearing out the minor guys, but you'll want to interview the staff managers anyways right? So yeah, it all works out fine! Heheh."

"Besides," he brazenly encouraged the glaring detective to move ahead of him, "we'd have a lot of trouble without the guide. Can't say I really like the guy, but this place is uh... yeah, big."

An ostentatious hacking cut off the young detective's stark glare, and gold orbs swiveled toward the source to come across a bent over, auburn haired man holding an unlabeled wine bottle a quarter empty in his hand. The straight cut of his bangs formed around his face like an M, blending sea blue eyes into cream tanned skin.

"Your convoy," he hiccupped, "has arrived. With the illustrious name of Mukahi Gakuto." A waving index finger flexed pointedly at Momoshiro. "And by the way, I hate you too."

Rolling his eyes before his sempai could start up, Ryouma groaned, "Can't you just give me directions?"

"Look," the redhead charged, swishing languidly the contents of his bottle, "I have only one job in this friggin' goddamn hell hole. And that is to make sure whoever shows up doesn't get lost here forever." Another hiccup, and he swaggered an outstretched arm for emphasis. "Not that I give a damn, but this place is a hundred square acres. Some moron thought one person could use it."

He swung his hip melodramatically outwards and tapped a finger to his lips. "Oh yeah, that would be my boss." His following uncouth laugh set Ryouma's eyebrow twitched.

"Heh, but now your boss is dead," Momoshiro pounced, eager to swing in one of his own.

"Pft," again with the swinging of the wine bottle. Ryouma considered grabbing at it and smashing it to the ground, but Mukahi quickly followed up, "Atobe's the kinda guy who wouldn't die even if you killed 'im." Finally he took a swig, "If ya ask me, he'll be draggin' his prima donna ass in tomorra and start ordering us all back ta hell."

Ryouma and Momo exchanged glances, and Momo just shrugged while Ryouma tried not to cringe at the drunk's rapidly degrading English.

Finally they managed to actually move somewhere, and after twenty minutes of walking Ryouma had - regrettably - come to understand why Momo insisted they need a guide. It wasn't just the land size; whoever had designed the grounds had done so with the intent of making visitors miserable. For one, the dozens of structures used to house servants, housekeepers, and managers, were built directly into the hills. Sometimes you would enter on the first floor, then have to exit on the third floor which had suddenly become ground level. Opulent gardens exceeded any sort of aesthetic needs, covered in towering bush mazes, glitzy rose collections, and impractical stepping-stone paths. If not for countless years of physical training at the academy, Ryouma was sure his legs would be throbbing and sore from climbing hundreds of stairs and inclines.

It was a total labyrinth. It wasn't a place made to live; it was a place made to get lost.

There weren't any maps, since apparently most of it had only been built in the last few years. Apparently Atobe had begun to move all his business closer to him, at least in terms of the management, whatever that 'business' was... but Ryouma was quickly beginning to discover that finding out would probably be more difficult than trying to get Vice Chief Tezuka to crack a smile.

First they came across Atobe's personal secretary, an imperturbable man with royal blue hair that glossed smugly along with his contumelious smirk. When Ryouma tried to question him, he'd haughtily pushed at his thin framed glasses and cooed that Atobe's métier had nothing to do with his personal life (and death), that he was in a hurry and if Ryouma wanted to talk he could solicit one of the lower secretaries to make an appointment. The nouveau detective put this Oshitari Yuushi on two lists; his list of suspects and his list of people he hated.

Then at the entrance to the main house, they encountered... or rather, passed by, Atobe's body guard. The enormous dark skinned man sat blubbering on a mahogany stool, a disturbingly ridiculous sight considering this one called Kabaji Munehiro looked like a bull sitting on a mushroom wailing like a goose. Ryouma prided himself on the fitting (yet still absurd) analogy.

Upon trying to interview him, a few grunts and distinguishable usu's came out between sobs, and when Ryouma declared he'd come back later, a sobering Mukahi chortled that Kabaji would never give more than that in terms of words, so the detective would just be wasting his time. Luckily drunks are immune to golden eyed death glares, or else ISLID would have had a second body to deal with.

While heading through the lower level halls, a bronze haired man run past rather flustered, only responding to Ryouma's inquisitive demands by calling that he in a hurry to run a errand and his ETA was seventeen hours. Mukahi brushed off the man with the name Taki, of whom Ryouma stored carefully both name and face, since the redhead had known almost no names in regards to the minor staff; so if he recognized someone even slightly, said someone must have some importance.

On the third story they came across a set of wide, double doors that stood out due to its simple practicality. Unlike the other rooms styled with the marble and mahogany that seemed reflectively characteristic of the owner, these doors were obviously metal, a ferrous isle in a sea of whimsical glamour.

"Ah, the secur'ty room," the redhead gargled. "Shishido n' Ohtori practically locked 'emselves in there when atoibaba were found."

"Hm...I want to talk to them." Ryouma recalled from the files that Shishido Ryo was the head of security and Ohtori Choutaro was the head of maintenance. The estate was like a tiny nation that needed its own cabinet to keep it running.

"Hey, inamoratas!" Gakuto knocked the door cumbrously with his whine bottle, prompting Momo and Ryouma to stay back a couple feet lest it shatter. "Shmective's here ta see ya!"

Before they could actually see anyone, an exasperated voice howled, "I told you to stop calling us that!" as it's owner tore open the door. "Who's the brat?" it continued, a dirt-haired, snappy-faced prick glaring down at them. Well, that's how Ryouma decided to describe him, after taking one good glance at him.

Small endurance scars scratched in and around his cheeks and forehead, underscored by the tight, irritated frown that pulled down at his lips, as if to charge, 'What do you want?!' at the intruders. An expression that Ryouma distinctly remembered only he was allowed to brew. On top of that he was wearing a baseball cap, which was supposed to be the Ryouma's trademark damnit, and he was wearing it _wrong_ on top of that, with the bill swung backwards. Not cool, definitely not cool.

"Shishido-san, please don't be mean," a lighter, supplicant voice called from within. "They're probably here because of Atobe-san." A white-haired, amiable man appeared behind the gruff brunette, eyebrows crinkling together apologetically. "Hello, I'm Ohtori Choutaro, and this is my bo- Shishido Ryo. Are you the ones sent from ISLID?"

Finally, someone willing to talk to them! ...well, the drunk didn't count.

The shortest of the group extended an orthodox hand, serious gold eyes boring upwardly at the two. "Detective Echizen Ryouma." It wasn't really his nature to enact such an outdated gesture, but some harsh experiences at the academy taught him to initially get on good terms with those he found reasonable.

"Ah...," Ohtori politely shook hands, then made his averse partner do so as well. "I heard that ISLID doesn't have any boundaries regarding age, but I wasn't expecting an investigator so young!"

"Hehe," Momo glowered mischievously, "And how old do you think our boy wonder- OW!"

Ryoma swiftly took hold of the conversation while the quasi farceur nursed his aching shins. The last thing said boy wonder wanted a reminder of was his first day at ISLID, where that stupid medical assistant Oyster or whatever his name was thought he was still in junior high.

"Can you tell me, just what's going on with all the staff?" He truly doubted the august style of the property was managed by the riotous crew he'd seen rampaging about in utter disarray.

Rubbing his head a bit fretfully, Ohtori started to explain, "It was a real disaster. We were actually in the middle of-"

"I know it's my fault!"

A fist pounding hard against the door frame accompanied the brunette's sudden outburst. "Security was especially high that day! I'm the one who sets everything up, I'm the one responsible if something like this happens!"

"Shishido-san!" his companion cried in teary horror, "Please, we know you were trying your best-"

"Hold it!" the detective's unexpected projection brought the two to a halt. "... are you saying you were _expecting_ something to happen?!"

A shifty silence settled for a moment. Shishido and Ohtori exchanged glances, a curious uncertainty notable in their eyes. Finally the gentler man said, "I'm sorry, Echizen-san. I think... we, and the staff as well, we're all still in shock right now. Shishido-san and I... and Mukahi-san and the other staff members as well, we were raised by the Atobe family in order to take over these roles..... Atobe-san was not only our boss, he was our childhood friend."

Ryouma glared unsympathetically. "If he was your friend, and you know something, then I need you to-"

"A-_hem_," that tweeky readhead had the nerve to interrupt him! Mukahi seemed the type that didn't like to be left out. "I was _supposed_ to be showing you snoopers to Atobe's room, and I'd like to finish what I'm supposed to do. I haven't got all day you know."

Ryouma and Momo simultaneously rolled their eyes, wondering what else the drunk could possibly have to do, except maybe puke or pass out, but decided to let him have his way. Questioning could come later. The crime scene, however, should always be inspected as soon as possible; it was the most likely thing to get messed up over time.

Requesting that the two drama queens come along, Ryouma and co followed the tumultuous redhead across the floral patterned carpet and up to the next level. A nudge from Momo had Ryouma noticing the two tagalongs timidly holding hands, and he decided to let off the interrogation for a little bit longer. Despite rumors of his general nonchalance, he _did_ have a heart, and he knew how it felt to loose someone... knew all too well, all too bitterly.

To his surprise, the door they stopped before held even more disparity then the security room's. It was simple, white, undecorated and with a humdrum gold sheen handle that you could find on any ordinary bedroom door. Yes, that was just the problem, it was ... _normal_, absurdly so for the grandiose image Ryouma'd been painting of the man Atobe.

"Oi Jiro!" Mukahi rapped on the door, "I know you're there!" He twisted the door handle, and seemed surprised at finding it unlocked. Ryouma took careful note of such quirks; it was a base tactic, watching suspects enter the crime scene and tracing their reactions.

The room they entered was just what one would expect - in a normal house, that is. A normal cloth couch fashioned in the room's center, above a commonplace leaf patterned rug that covered most of the light wooden floor. To the side a small liquor cabinet stood half-hidden by a round, three legged table. Natural light poured explicitly across the room's current occupant, unfiltered by the south wall which was entirely a window. Said occupant snored ungraciously on the floor, reddish brown hair sprawled messily against the couch's side, in sync with sprawled out limbs and unkempt clothes.

"Jiro-san!" a concerned Ohtori cried from behind, "Jiro-san, wake up! Mukahi-san, he hasn't been here this whole time has he?!"

"And this is...?" Ryouma eyed their flaky chauffeur wearily, sharply chastising through a glare.

"Another one of Atobe's guards. ... I think." The redhead scrunched his eyelids shut, more from confoundment than any sort of useful contemplation. "Oi Shishido, what did Jirou do again?"

The brunette only snorted, eagle eyeing his concerned companion who was shaking the snoring figure widely.

"He wasn't here when we cleared the place out," Momo quickly said, preemptively defending himself from oncoming death glares.

A few barks from Ryouma and the Ohtori and Shishido together lifted up Jirou and carried him off. Finally the detective turned his attention to inspecting the room. He noticed on the far side opposite the liquor cabinet another door, also fairly plain. The window wall seemed to continue on into the adjacent room. Peering towards the luminous glass, he could see out across a long yard, an area he realized they hadn't passed through. _We must have come from the other direction_, he noted, also sighting another set of ebony gates that signified the perimeter of the territory some three-hundred meters off. Most the view, however, was blocked by the thick, spiraling branches of a conifer, climbing up even further beyond the level and perhaps even beyond the roof, he realized, as if succeeding the tower of Babel in a stretch towards the heavens.

"So, who gets all this now that the boss is gone?" He directed his question towards a disgruntled Mukahi, who had somehow finished his bottle and was now struggling to find a new source of poison in the fortunately locked liquor cabinet.

"Hiyoshi Wakato," the redhead stated unhesitatingly. "Pretty certain he'll be pushed up in Atobe's place. They've always moved him up whenever Atobe got promoted."

"Heh..." a nice motive. Not that murderers birthed from motive alone. "And that door leads to?"

"Atobe's bedroom," Momo's hardy voice cut in. "The actual crime scene."

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A/N: ; Ehehehe, sorry I just had to post this here. It is getting absurdly long. This scene is supposed to be about one-forth this length, and the act has a whole nother scene that's far more important after this. Sorry this one rambles on so long --;; Please review! I promise it'll get better very very soon. ;;

Next! Scene III: The Main Suspect

Finally, we'll get to see Fuji! ... I hope. ;; sniff And I love Fuji so much too...


	3. Act 1 Scene III

**Craze:** You've almost found Fuji!! Keep reading!!

**Lil'mil**: Thanks as always for reading! I am sooo flattered you would, since IF is one of the best AUs ever . I only hope I don't bore you or disappoint you! I love Tezuka too. ;; Hopefully I'll do him justice, hopefully hopefully... (btw, Oyster is reffering to Oishi). And as for who dunnit... heeheehee

**SadistFujiFan:** ; yeah, there's some politics behind Tezuka only being Vice head. He's doing all the work (since the Nanjiroh who is still officially the head is dead) but they won't promote him because they don't want ISLID to look weak. Also, Tezuka's really young so putting him in charge officially would cause a lot of problems, even if his works have been outstanding thus far. Ryouma graduated from the academy a year early, so he's outstanding too! V

**RuByMoOn17:** Thanks for reading! Hopefully I don't disappoint? Fuji soon! promise

**Purple jellybean hoarder:** Wow!! I'm so happy you read my fic, I love CounterSpin to death, so this is really exciting!! Hopefully I can keep this up... hehe, poor Nanjiro (I seem to kill a lot of ppl in this fic, sorry!) Heeheehee, and Fuji... well, you'll see. FujiRyo is my favorite pairing!

**ki-ku-maru BEAM: **Yes we do!! We love Tezuka!! O I hope he has a bigger role in this story!

**Hikari no Yami:** Yeah, I don't like that Atobe died either. ( I love Atobe, so it makes me really mad!! D I'm glad you like the plot, hope it won't get too out of hand ;; (maybe it already has?!)

Thanks for reviewing!! Yes, there should be more FujiRyo! hm... how _will_ they react when they first meet, I wonder too...

Thank you so much for reviewing!! Please continue to review!!

If you want, please post in your review who you suspect!!

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A/N: So sorry it took so long! This was pretty hard to write. Actually, between this chapter and last, is all supposed to be one scene, so... TT I included scene III in this too. (And it's not called The Main Suspect, sorry, I lied!!) ;;

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"Atobe's bedroom," Momo's hardy voice cut in. "The actual crime scene." Now that they'd finished collecting the suspects it was his turn to step in; he'd been in charge of the initial inspection, of course, and overseen the photographing and removal of the body.

Cutting out the suspension, the brawny field agent opened the door to reveal another small, ordinary room. Stepping in, Ryouma took in what he could of the scene - a half drunken wine bottle placed behind two gleaming unused wine glasses, all on a fine wooden tray, a decorative ivory rosary, the neatly made floral patterned sheets over a king-sized bed, off-white willowy curtains, and a window behind them which took up the entire wall. As expected, a man-shaped outline of whtie tappe decorated the floor. Momo explained that the maid who discovered the body was cleaning the room when she did, so she was already mostly done before she noticed Atobe.

Great. Just great. Little evidence, and almost no background on the victim. And very little help from Atobe's employees. Well, he did have one thing - plenty of suspects.

Ryouma wasn't sure if he wanted to cry or puke out all his guts.

Sighing with increased frustration, he pulled out the manila envelope with the files he'd been handed before. Academy standards dictated that he should exam the crime scene photos while at the actual scene. He took his second look over the glossy Kodaks, overlaying the outline with the image of a fallen body.

A lithe figure turned back at him, lying palms out and arms slightly spread, a graceful look of composure across his fine-traced features. Lavender bangs flew outwards framing even colored skin, marked only by a tiny spot beneath his right eye. Were it not for the thick handled protrusion from his chest area, Ryouma would have almost thought Atobe Keigo was sleeping. The extraordinary aesthetic posture sent the young detective's eyebrows twitching.

"Pft, hahaha!" Unabashed laughter swung his attention back to the redhead craning obtrusively over his shoulder, golden eyes trying to glare the soused man down. "That's _so_ Atobe! He probably put himself in that position," Mukahi snorted, "to make sure he looked good. Knowing him, it was the last thing on his mind before dying."

"Che." He could have spent his time better! Like, tried to leave a clue or something... useless narcissist.

But for that matter... There were no mirrors. Anywhere.

_Odd_, Ryouma thought. _Perhaps he kept one in his pocket?_

He moved back into the living room (as he deemed it) to look at the other photos in better light. Now that it was on his mind, he noticed there were no mirrors in here, either.

_One so vain doesn't check his image every 5 minutes?_ Perhaps the stereotype was wrong? No... but Ryouma knew he couldn't figure out the reason with what information he had here.

Arranging the angled blowups across the sofa cushions, his eyes narrowed in on the murder weapon. Obviously a knife, it bore deep into the chest of the victim, inserted (according to forensics) at close range to the body, as blood seeped out from behind, staining the carpet but not Atobe's clothes. But what really caught his eye was the handle.

Simply put, it was... spectacular.

Delicate carvings pealed back the wooden rim in the fashion of a budding chrysanthemum, stained white by some chemical. Hatched scratches around the blade joining edge resembled something of a net, and rising above a gentle hand cradles a blue orb that seemed to represent Earth. A fine craftsmanship, yet far too ornate for any practical use... but obviously the blade was another story.

"Hey isn't that-"

Startled out of his observations, Ryouma spun around to see those two drama stooges were back from carting off that sleeping nuisance Jirou guy, and peering nosily over his shoulder. Had Ohtori just spoken?

"It's definitely..." Shishido started, then grumpily went quiet.

"Definitely what?!" Ryouma snapped, sick of all the ballet prancing he'd been audience to since approaching the mansion.

Leaning back disconcertedly, the brunette shook his head. "I'm the Head of Security, so I keep up on these things. Those are symbols for Yon. It's a powerful gang that headquarters several hours south of here. They've had dealings with Atobe before..."

Suddenly Momo interrupted to cry, "Ah! I know what you're talking about!" He beamed all too proudly, chest puffed up as if anticipating the marvelous effect of his contribution. "Yon's cool, I've heard good thigns about them!"

An eyebrow arched above the detective's inquisitive golden eyes. "Good things about a supposed gang?"

"Eh? ... oh yeah, didn't anyone tell you?" The joyful man slapped his junior's back affectionately (but far too heavily), "I used to be in a gang before I got- uh, joined ISLID. Kinda fun back in the day. Ah but I mean, Yon was in the same area, they've got quite a reputation, been around forever."

Shishido nodded. "Actually, Atobe told us that whoever becomes the leader of Yon is given a special knife, one that only he can use. One like this here..."

Put two and two together.... "So," Ryouma felt that appropriately he have the last word, "The knife belonging to the leader of Yon is the murder weapon, meaning our prime suspect is..." he stopped. There was something wrong about this train of reasoning... but he couldn't put his finger on it. He still felt a queasy knot in the bottom of his gut saying he was still not being told something important.

But, at least he had a place to start, and a suspect to start with.

Yon's boss.

---

Scene III: El Abismo

Despite the dry, Californian sun leering overhead, the area Ryouma entered was so crowded with tall, empty buildings that little light managed to glorify the district known as El Abismo. The empty streets slept beneath shadowy, dank blankets, shifting aside as if frightened by or threatening the estranged visitor. Drips on pavement, drips on whatever plastic or metal trash had been dumped into defilement piles, echoed in a lonely, off-key melody. Disrepair of walls and railings along the high-rises made them seem abandoned, but Ryouma knew its occupants just didn't have the money to fix them.

He had heard about this place during his studies at the academy. El Abismo was a slum amongst slums, a place that even thugs tended to avoid. Drug dealers and prostitute used drift about its rim, but rumor had it the current gang in charge was so aggressive that even they had been roughed out. The Italian mafia had once had its claws on the area, but it seemed the immigrant mobsters had more or less been replaced by local city kids that ran only semi-organized crime in the form of orthodox gangs. But this was far from a blessing - these 'kids' were anything but youthfully innocent; they were viscous, mean, toughened by years of sordid poverty, so _bad_ that the government and philanthropic organizations had all but abandoned the area altogether.

Such was the home of Yon, one of LA's many gangs but also the most powerful.

He decided to confront their leader directly.

Momo had offered to go with him, but he'd quickly snapped, "No, I'll be fine by myself."

_I don't need anyone's help_, he thought. _Even if somebody came, they'd just be in the way._

Still, he'd taken the black handled switch blade he'd been offered. Why the field agent carried such a precarious reminder of his 'good old days' Ryouma deemed safer not to question. For preservation of his sanity.

_You'll know where to go when you get there, _Momo had told him. _ Just follow the signs._

_What signs,_ he'd wanted to glare, but now that he was here, it was pretty obvious.

Dashed around in various places, white trash bags were meticulously placed and spaced, marking out a loose path down particular streets. _Markers_, he thought, wondering why they'd made them so obvious. Each bag puffed spherically bright, stuffed entirely with what looked like shredded newspaper, tied off in crisp, perfect knots that pushed up the handles like a pair of animal ears. They reminded him of chubby white rabbits, like the one from that story that was always running off crying it was late for something important.

Soon he didn't need the signs; he could _hear_ where he needed to go. Rowdy laughter, stampeding, shattering glass, and an unsteady banging all drew him towards one narrow alley in particular.

Turning one corner changed the world.

The empty manless space he'd wandered a second ago was replaced by an alleyway filled with people. Boys and even some girls were lounging, playing, running, sleeping, laughing, screaming, falling over piled up cardboard boxes and more white stuffed trash bags. Some looked as young at ten, others looked almost thirty. Most sported jeans and t-shirts, but some dressed more finally, and some hardly wore rags. More noticeably, though, was that on each and everyone of them, a heavy, colorful orb dangled from a golden clasp on the right ear.

A sign of membership to Yon.

Echoes of Momo's loud reminders flashed through his ears: "Don't bother with the little guys. Go straight for the boss, challenge 'im directly and they'll leave you alone. It ain't true for all gangs, but Yon and the one I popped from had an honor code 'bout these things."

Perfect. That was just Ryouma's style.

"Hey! Is the boss around?"

Somehow, his voice pierced the raucous, and suddenly he found a couple dozen hardened faces glaring ferociously at the source of interruption, a dangerous tint piercing through narrowed eyes.

Ryouma didn't back down. "I asked, where's your boss!"

For a moment, all the faces stayed silent. Then one dark skinned guy hopped off his throne of cardboard, thrusting his hands into worn jean pockets and sauntering menacingly towards where the detective held his place.

The man leaned over, practically screaming in his face, "Look kid, what's your problem?! One two three leaders ain't here!"

From this distance, Ryouma could see through the man's dark goggle lenses and note the pupils squinting down, and he realized his right ear was being scrutinized.

"Hey, you ain't us! Did Tigers sent you?!"

He didn't know who 'Tigers' was, but he certainly wasn't about to blurt his cop affiliation. He shrugged, playing the broken record tactic, "Where's your leader?"

The shaded man glared, but then a spiky haired brunette lounging on more of the boxes called, "Hey Touji, lay off. He ain't dun nothin'." He joined them on the street's perimeter, an impish smirk pulled on his face.

"Hey Leader, 'nother one's here to date you!" he yelled, sizing the gold eyed youth from head to toe, then let out a whistle: "An' this one here's head over heels in love!"

Shuffling ensued as members started to shift closer to the walls, as if making way for the coming of the Queen. A door he hadn't realized was there swung out from the building that was all metal, and he heard a feminine voice placidly coo, "What is it, Minami-kun?"

Then a lithe figure with narrow shoulders materialized as if on cue, graceful and small. He wasn't a girl, Ryouma could tell, from his straight body and masculine choice of ware, but his long, gentle lashes and the smooth, round curve of his face, small stature and shoulder gracing hair radiated effeminate and elegance. Thin exposed arms folded innocently behind his back, and an overly genial smile danced over soft, pinkish lips.

Ryouma's first though was, _This _wimp's_ the head of California's number one gang?!_

Similarly, said 'wimp' sized up his opponent, taking in the baby face cheeks and tangled ebony hair. One glance at those scowling golden eyes and he knew he was being underestimated.

_Good_, Fuji thought, almost licking his lips in pleasure.

Those golden eyes narrowed into a sweeping glare, and the boy seemed to think he was being tricked and laughed at by the rowdy gangsters.

"May I help you," that gentle, wind-like voice continued, "gendarme?"

A sudden angry hissing emerged from the crowd, but the one they claimed was leader waved them down. Ryouma realized in rising internal panic that this man had just identified him as a police member. He gulped his hard bounding heart back into his chest, and forced his expression to remain hard as iron.

"There's something I need to talk to you about," he used the wording he'd thought about carefully before arriving, "that doesn't involve," he waved towards those around, "_them._"

"I see." That rippling voice never wavered, its owner maintaining this irkingly genial smile that pushed his eyes into thin, closed slits. "True, my business is my own. Then, I will make a deal with you."

That smile grew mirthfully, and Ryouma felt something sickly drop in his stomach, but he ignored it and forced himself to nod.

"Then," the fair haired man flicked his wrist, "I will tell you all you want to know, if you can keep yourself from bleeding for the next two minutes."

But Ryouma didn't have time to think about the meaning of his words, because instantly his quick vision registered that the flick had opened a butterfly switch blade, the smile had faded and been replaced by piercing cerulean eyes, and that small, lithe body was dashing towards him with the grace and speed of a dragon, a shimmering, deadly knife aiming for his throat.

----

A/N: Whoa!! Finally ended Act I!! Okay, later I'm going to go through and edit like mad, and put all the scenes together so Act I will just be one chapter. ;; But this is how it is for now, sorry!

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About ISLID:

For clarification, Tezuka is the Vice Chair of ISLID, and Nanjiro is the Chair. Nanjiro died two years ago, but for some reason ISLID refused to promote anyone to Chair to replace him. Instead they promote Tezuka to Vice Chair, and let him run everything as if he were Chair. And up until now, ISLID has never had the position of 'Vice Chair'. It was run by a Chair, overseen by a supervisor (Ryuuzaki-sensei), and then orders were sent directly to the different staff members.

ISLID is a pretty small group actually, with only a few hundred members at various headquarters. There is a West Coast headquarters, and East Coast headquarters, a London headquarters, and a Hong Kong headquarters. None of these come into the story. ; The staff consists of investigators (Ryouma), field agents (Momo), field medical assistants (Oishi), coroners, forensics, intelligence agents, secretaries, managers, and the Chairs (Tezuka). The main headquarters changes every couple of years, so currently they are at West Coast headquarters.

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Atobe's mansion is somewhere in Northern California, presumably not to far from San Francisco. Sniff, I'm so sorry though, I totally messed up the description. There actually was a reason why Gakuto had to be the guide but it got cut out.

El Abismo is a few hours east of LA. It's just a made up place (don't go looking for it on a map!) from yoshikochan's imagination.

As for ages: Echizen is 17, Tezuka is 24, Fuji is 20. The staff at the Atobe mansion are all in their twenties or early thirties (Atobe likes young, pretty people) with the exception of some of the maids and manservants. Momo is 18 (a year older than Echizen like in the anime) as is Eiji.

If you have any questions, please put them in your reviews! If yoshikochan can answer them, she will!

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End file.
